What is love
by BabochkaX
Summary: Patsy tells us the story of Love, as she has experienced it
1. Chapter 1

A roll in the hay, taking to bed, coitus; sexual intercourse.

Lying on my back, becoming cold from the sweat which covered my body I pressed her closer to me. Delia nuzzled her head up to the top of my shoulder, burrowing her face in the crevasse between neck and shoulder. She took a small piece of skin between her teeth and bit down lightly, causing another twinge to go rushing through my body and down between my legs.

My body convulsed slightly and Delia giggled,

"It's so easy to do that to you," she commented.

"Oh? I replied, rolling myself and her over so we were both on our sides. Delia smirked, sliding her hand around my hip and gently gripping my backside. I shuddered a little and Delia laughed outright.

"Hey, I'm just cold," I chided.

"Well, come here then," she smiled, running a hand up my back to sit between my shoulder blades. Moving one of her hands she lifted the sheets of the bed over us both, allowing me the freedom to let my own hands wander. I slipped my hands from her ribs to her hips and back up to her breasts, squeezing her nipples between thumb and forefinger.

Shutting her eyes Delia sighed softly.

I smiled and lend in to her, letting our mouths meet in a soft French kiss.

"Delia," I whispered pulling away from her,

"Yes?"

"I love you so much."

My mind cast back to the first time I had said those words. I was twenty two, a qualified and experienced nurse for my age, and a girl who thought she knew all. However I knew very little. He was Simon Wilcock, a gentleman in his early twenties also. He was my experiment, I was cruel but unknowing, not aware that I was following through with something horrible.

I had first heard the term lesbian aged fifteen, and I had known from day one, known the word was one I would come to use as a description for myself. I wasn't ready to admit who I was. As you may know it was very stigmatised to be a gay woman, very unheard of and only not an illegal act because good old queen Victoria believed a woman could never be so indecent.

I tried my best to deny everything at first and that was how I had come across Mr Wilcock.

(A/n) just a little opener for this story, it isn't easy to write because I want it to be as realistic as possible, which means I have to do some traveling to a part of my life I wasn't fond of. Anyway I hope you enjoy


	2. Chapter 2

He had been an inpatient, on high dependency at the London, whilst I was there covering a marriage leave.

I wasn't at home on the ward, didn't know the nurses or doctors at all. He was kind, unlike the other men on the ward, he was patient with me, allowing more time for the tests I hadn't conducted on a regular basis before.

Mr Wilcock had been admitted two weeks before on the intensive care general ward in a diabetic ketoasidosis coma. It was rare for a man as old as mr Wilcock to contract the deadly form of diabetes but, as the doctor on the ward was very clear in saying, it was not impossible. Mr Wilcock, having now awoken from the coma had been on my ward for a week, my week on the evening shift. He was currently being given two injections of U-40 insulin. I still remember the dosage was 0.6mg. He was to be injected in the buttocks, arms or thighs in the morning and evening. It was the third evening when he began to put on the charm. I'd met many charming men over the years but something about him made me think differently.

It must have been around seven pm but because of the time of year and the nature of the ward many of the men were already asleep.

I'd scrubbed my arms up to the elbow, as I always had. The fear of being a typhoid carrier had haunted me ever since I, as a trainee, had learned that such a thing existed. We didn't have a blood test before being accepted into a medical profession the way that people are now. No one knew who I was, not enough to know my history with typhoid.

Going to mr Wilcock's bedside I could hear him sobbing- being emotional was very often a sign of a high blood sugar level and I presumed it would be a long evening.

I pulled the curtain around his bed, bringing the vile of insulin and sterile syringe with me.

"Now, come on old chap, let's get your injection done." I sighed.

"Why me, Nurse?l" he sobbed, looking up at me with wide chocolate brown eyes. His cheeks were tear-stained.

"Oh Mr Wilcock, having diabetes doesn't have to be the end of the world. You are exactly the same man you were before."

"What girl's gonna want me know? Who'd want to marry this?"

That was when I saw my opportunity, or rather, I was naive and thought I saw it. I would prove to myself that I was like every other girl, that I could look at a handsome young man and see just that. And so I said it.

"Well then, mr Wilcock, if you are so certain you won't be ever marry then I suggest, once you are well and have left the hospital, that you and I have an evening together."

Of course I never expected anything to come of it. Weeks later I was back to the joys of Male Surgical, with the help of a probationer. The young girl- just turning twenty- was all the way from Wales, why she hadn't stayed at home I didn't know. She was eager to learn and sharp as a tack, and also rather pretty.

It was my evening off when the note came. I had just changed into some slacks and was lounging in a camisole under top with a just-lit cigarette when there was a knock at the door of my small room at the nurse's home.

It was my understudy who came into the room. Nurse Busby, also off duty, wore a dress with a full skirt which bumped over her hips. She was wide-eyed when she handed over the letter.

"A gentleman caller, Nurse Mount," she announced before leaving me to my note.

'Meet me at the pictures, seven pm, Simon Wilcock.'

I was instructed to lie on the bed, watching tentatively as Delia removed her bath robe, being drawn away from my thoughts of the past.

"Oh Delia, oh." I sighed, lying in bed several moments before. I watched her, watched her eyes close and flutter, her long lashes made thicker and brighter with the mascara she wore. She stood there, wearing beautiful white French lingerie.

"I told the woman in the shop it was for my, my fiancé." She whispered, climbing over me so her breasts slipped forwards in the balcony corset and bulged slightly in front of my face.

"And one day," her mouth brushed my ear lobe, "you will be just that."


	3. Chapter 3

That's when it began with Simon. An evening at the pictures, then a picnic, walking me to a fro. As the time went on the probationer became used to bringing me notes. I became used to being in a relationship with a man. I didn't love him- I didn't know what love felt like but I was more than aware that this wasn't it. Even when, in the following July he kissed my deeply, all I felt was a tongue swirling about in my mouth- not even a tingle of emotion.

But I had written to my aunt, my Father was delighted that I'd found a fellow. I was delighted to be pleasing him, to have him feel I was becoming the daughter he wanted, the daughter who wasn't damaged by the war.

It was August when it began to change. August when he did something so obvious that I was given a tough shake and began to see what I was missing.

"Come to bed." He had insisted after a meal at a local restaurant.

I hadn't known what to say, part of me was willing to go with him, another part was terrified.

"I have rubbers," he added in a whisper as though pregnancy was the only thing on my mind.

"Oh, I'm allergic to latex," I tried to tell him, quite pleased with my quick thinking until I realised it was going to be no help to the situation.

In fact I made it worse.

He took me home that night, stripped me bare and thrust his manhood inside me. It was just as expected, sore and rough and I felt I was jerked around like a pulley string. Simon had grabbed at my breasts, pummelling them with his chest and rib cage with every thrust. It was uncomfortable and strange and the feeling inside me was like I was being grated.

He left me in the large bed in his bachelor flat to recover while he made some telephone calls. It took me a while to sit up, moving my legs closer together or further apart was uncomfortable, and it took me only second to see I was bleeding. Officially no longer a virgin, but in spirit I felt like I had just entered prostitution. There was no love for this man, barely even care other than not to hurt him. I felt as though we were strangers, like those in the Far East who were forced into arranged marriages.

I had my answer: not the one I wanted. It wasn't curable- being a lesbian. The whole time Simon had spent within my body I had been thinking of other things, of work, or my next meal; of women.

I was late. I was never late. Nursing was a vocation which didn't stand for disobedient behaviour- and that included sex for any nurse.

I had only been late when I was twelve and just starting out with the curse.

Being a nurse on male surgical I wasn't sure how to slip in a sample without it being noticed, having to take a urine sample bottle from one of the supply cupboards off the surgery corridor, I kept the bottle- tightly sealed- in my apron pocket.

As chance would have it a week after I'd began carrying the bottle- which was refilled each day- I finished late. I was just leaving the ward after an emergency on a patient with acute appendicitis. The surgery was conducted by Tracy, the arrogant fool, who managed to pierce the appendix and allow poison to flow from the inflamed organ into the abdomen itself.

The whole inside wall of the abdomen had to be washed and carefully handled. I tried my best to be gentle with the innards which Tracy dumped into my hands. He didn't care about the intense bruising the poor sod would suffer afterwards.

By the time I'd changed from my scrubs into my normal uniform the last ward round had been completed and the night shift had come on duty. The hospital was on skeleton staffing for the night.

I was just leaving the hospital for the nurse's home when I bumped into her again, the young nurse-Delia. My heart leapt when I saw that she was carrying the last box of labelled urine samples of the day.

"Nurse Busby!" I called after her, trotting a little down the corridor to catch her.

"Just the girl I was looking for! You couldn't squeeze another sample in could you? It's for a Mathilda Horace." I quickly grabbed the bottle out of my pocket as if pretending to check the information on the bottle.

Delia's eyes narrowed, her head twisting slightly to the left in a way that questioned me.

"Why would a pregnancy test come from the men's ward?" She asked.

"It wasn't from the ward, Matron caught me in the corridor." I began to feel like she was accusing me, she must know how dangerous that was, to be a common whore, to sleep around; to be pregnant.

"And I would ask you to remember your position."

I stalked off, feeling angry at her confrontation. But feeling something else too, something that made me feel wrong- like I shouldn't hurt the young nurse.

Little did I know it then- or for several months to come- that then I was beginning to discover the reality. This was love.


End file.
